


The Rachel: Mirrors

by LilacSolanum



Series: The Rachel [4]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Amputation, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Really Sucking At The Whole Comfort Thing, Hurt/Really Terrible At Comfort, Limb Difference, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 05:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15812055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacSolanum/pseuds/LilacSolanum
Summary: Ax and Menderash are doing all they can to adjust to their new relationship challenges, but these things rarely work themselves out without a few bumps in the road.





	The Rachel: Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a big fan of overly long author's notes, but I have to talk about a few things here. First and foremost, this was written for a Tumblr ask from c-rowlesdraws, who wrote: "MINI-FIC PROMPT: Ax coming to terms with his space husband Menderash being a human nothlit forever, and/or trying to bond with him and be supportive. I love how you've been writing these two." Except that was such a wonderful topic that I didn't do it mini at all.
> 
> And then, the part that gets long, I actually never planned on Menderash's missing limb to be a relevant thing. I wanted him to suffer severe consequences for having been on the ship when it crashed and being morph incapable, but I was also like "Eh, I'm sure some aliens have limb growth technology, it'll be fine." I've since realized that's unfair to the narrative for various reasons. So I have now been been desperately researching limb differences and trying to write Menderash respectfully. I'm sort of building the tracks as the train comes barreling down. If you have a limb difference or are otherwise connected and see something that seems off, please speak up. I'd much rather be momentarily embarrassed than consistently offensive.

Andalites and humans do not sleep at the same time. One day on Andalite is roughly two and a half days on Earth, and as such, we have very different internal rhythms. While I sleep for a longer period than the humans, overall, I sleep far less.

The ship goes quiet for me twice during my waking cycles. I typically keep an eye on the autopilot during this time, though I often monitor the ship by linking my thought-speak to certain alerts and do not confine myself to the bridge. Many nights a human will have difficulty sleeping and I always welcome their company, both to ease my own loneliness and to distract them from whatever ailed their spirit. Sometimes, I would attempt to visit Estrid. She used to ignore me, but has lately taken up insulting me, which I believe is progress.

I am not sure what Menderash does when I am asleep. I imagine he uses the time to bond with other humans. He has become quite close with Santorelli, who has been working with him with him on matters of health. On Earth, Menderash and I saw many doctors who specialized in amputation, and we also spoke with various psychiatrists on the mental effects and prepared Menderash for the things he may feel. Santorelli came with us on many occasions in anticipation of being Menderash’s sole care provider, as well as taking private classes under a physician and accumulating quite a few instructional books. I am very grateful for his involvement. Menderash also enjoys Melissa’s optimism, admires Jeanne’s wit and pragmatic outlook, and has given into Marco’s infectious charm. I have always assumed he leaves when I sleep and strengthens his bonds with the other crew members of the _Rachel._

Perhaps I was wrong.

I was woken up in the middle of the night by the unmistakable sound of glass shattering.

Lightening fast, I jerked myself toward Menderash before even seeing him, somehow knowing exactly where he was without sight. This was perhaps a sign that our psychic bond was deepening, which would otherwise be a moment of celebration, but I was far too wired to concern myself with it. I swept the room with my stalk eyes, barely able to comprehend what I was seeing. Eventually, I understood there was no intruder, merely an object broken on the floor. I knelt down on my forelegs to study the mess.

<Did this fall?> I ask, picking up a few pieces. I recognized it as a “mirror box,” a strange sort of contraption designed to ease ailments in amputees. Various doctors have explained to us that the mind and body have difficulty adjusting to the loss of a limb, and often creates phantom sensations that the amputee is unable to soothe on their own. A “mirror box” could trick one’s mind into seeing the missing limb with a reflection, thus deceiving the mind into believing a healing interaction had occurred. Menderash, felt that his weak human mind was feeble for believing the limb was still there, and was always embarrassed to use it. I, on the other hand, thought the device was quite clever.

Menderash had stopped complaining about the phantom limb sensations a few weeks before we left Earth. The mirror box had been brought only at Santorelli’s insistence, and it had sat on a shelf ever since the ship’s launch.

“Go back to sleep,” said Menderash, using the spoken version of our Andalite language. I tilted my right stalk eye at him curiously. We typically used English in public spaces, but almost always used thought-speak in our quarters. Spoken Andalite is an interesting experiment, but it is closed off and imperfect compared to thought-speak. If he was using it, he was most likely trying to hide something from me.

I stepped closer to him, noticing the tension in his jaw and the faint tremor in his stump. <Are you alright?> I asked. I reached out toward him.

Menderash jerked away. “Please sleep. I find you _shhliast_ when you have not slept properly.”

I indicated further curiosity with my stalk eyes. Depending on emotional and tonal undertones s _hhliast_ could be a term of endearment, a measurement of the intensity of light reflecting off a small manufactured pond during late twilight, a specific sort of indoor surface, or something quite rude. <Define,> I said, as is the procedure when spoken Andalite becomes unclear.

Menderash switched to English, and the language had never sounded more guttural and chopped. “You become petulant and sullen, reacting to minor inconveniences like a spoiled child who has been told no, and I do not have the energy to coddle you for the next fifty Earth hours!”

Ah. So it was the rude version after all. The word was quite cruel in the original Andalite. I crossed my arms over my chest, a human affectation that indicates I am irritated. He twitched, reacting to an invisible tremor in his body that he was clearly too proud to discuss with me. I reminded myself that he was not feeling well, and relaxed my arms. I made an attempt to be soothing. <You are clearly suffering,> I said, attempting to smother my offense with concern.

“It is _gathac,_ ” he muttered, back to using Andalite.

<Define,> I said.

He switched again to English. “I am fine.”

<Ah,> I said. <’I am fine’ is a phrase said by humans that often indicates they are not fine.>

Menderash’s stump trembled again. He suddenly slapped the side of his body and clung onto himself, as if he were grounding himself in the reality that it was not there.

“It is not my fault humanity is so fond of emotional obfuscation that they suddenly burden their words with new meaning and expect you to follow the whim.”

I suppressed the urge to exhale heavily through my nose, a somewhat rude gesture that conveyed annoyance even more obviously than crossing my arms. I spoke with a slow and steady patience. <Santorelli has trained extensively to treat you,> I said calmly. <Please allow him to employ his hard earned skills. You are in pain.>

It was as if something rose up in Menderash then, something of heat and oil, dark and buried and burning. He flung his arm out and struck the wall with a fist, as if he were lashing out with a tailblade. However, his fist was made not from dense and nerveless bone, but soft skin and complex muscles, and it was quite dangerous for him to do such a thing. The sound of it was not the sure stability of bone and metal, but was rather hollow, wet, and sickly. I immediately grabbed his wrist, inspecting his hand for injuries. He jerked away from me.

“It is not pain,” he said, speaking through clenched teeth. His stump trembled again. He closed his eyes and let his face fall into an expression of desperate ache.

< _Kala,_ please,> I said softly, carefully leaving my hands at my side. I inspected Menderash’s hand with my stalk eyes, seeing it from every angle I could. The knuckles were bleeding and bruises were blooming, but he did not hold his hand at any strange angles, which was good sign. <Let us speak calmly. If you injure this hand, you will—>

I did not finish speaking. I realized I was perhaps being too forward in pointing out Menderash only had the one remaining limb. He made a choked noise, something between a sob and a laugh. He flopped down on his bed and lay on his side, like a forgotten toy. He made another noise, this one much closer to a sob, and he wiped at his eyes. He was crying, but he did not want to admit it.

“It is not pain,” he said, soft and soaked in defeat. He used English, perhaps to avoid further confusion with spoken Andalite. “I would not care if it were pain. There is _always_ pain, is there not?”

I did not answer. I wasn’t sure if I should. The entire right side of his body had been mangled in the the _Rachel’s_ crash. Santorelli had used his knowledge as a military medic to keep him alive, and the Andalites used our advanced technologies to heal him entirely. However, Andalite technology is not designed for humans, and the military had little respect for Menderash as a _vecol nothlit_. He did not receive the premium treatment he deserved. I knew this had led to complications that went further than his amputation, but he did not often speak of them.

Though I said nothing out loud, it was as if Menderash had heard my thoughts. He laughed bitterly. “If it is not the stump, then it is the broken ribcage. If it is not the ribs, then it is the shattered kneecap. If it is none of those, then it is my back, which was not all that affected in the crash! It is simply a quirk of humanity that the back is broken _by design_ . And then there is the head, which screams and screams and screams if it is not given enough water or sleep or I do not wear the hideous _glasses._ No, Aximili, I do not care from pain.”

He looked down at his hand and made it into a fist. He stared at it, watching as syrupy and bright human blood oozed from his knuckles.

“My imaginary arm _itches,_ ” he hissed, his voice hollowed and hoarse.

<Ah,> I said, speaking slowly and carefully. <I believe I see what happened now. You tried to use the mirror box to trick your mind into solving the problem, and it did not work. Why did you not wake me? I have assisted you with this in the past.>

Menderash twitched again, then jumped up. “I should not have to wake you!” said Menderash, shouting again, louder than ever. I stepped backwards and covered my ears, an indelicate human move that did little to help the harsh ringing noise that Menderash’s voice caused.

< _Kala,_ thought-speak, please! > I said, almost begged. He did not listen to me. He began to wildly pace around the room, paying no mind to the glass shards on the floor. He was wearing shoes and thus was safe, but he was making a bigger mess, and creating more danger in the increasingly likely event that he lost his precarious human balance and fell. He was also making it impossible for me to walk through our quarters without getting glass stuck in a hoof. Our hooves are largely numb, but the feeling of something lodged in them is never pleasant. <You must stop pacing,> I said sternly, trying to speak evenly and not reveal that I was both very worried and very annoyed.

“I should not need your help,” repeated Menderash, ignoring my request. The sound of him stepping on glass was grainy and grating. “It is— there is nothing there! Do you understand this, Aximili? Do you see? There is _nothing there!_ ” he said, his voice still loud and forceful. He clasped his stump at the wound with his hand, as if to remind himself his body had been snapped away. I breathed in shock as a phantom wave of Menderash’s feelings rolled over me. I felt the itch, a sense like embers crawling, and I felt the press of his hand against the nerve endings of his wound, something not quite painful but not pleasant.

<Calm down, please,> I said. <There are things we can do.>

Menderash laughed in a wild way. He continued to pace, grinding glass further and further into the floor. “This body, my body, this body— it is so primitive, so idiotic, so imperfect and underdeveloped that it still thinks that there is a limb _when there is no limb!_ ” he said. The glass was cutting little stars into our floor, permanent scratches that would never wash away. “So it imagines— it _imagines—_ that it is there! And it imagines it so very poorly that I only get imperfect and mutated flashes, like my body feels the limb betrayed us by leaving and we must never honor it properly. And so we remember it filled with too-sharp needles, we remember it as empty static that brings me to madness, we remember it as aching and awful and swollen, like meat rotting in the sun.”

I stepped forward and reached out to Menderash, intending to hold him in hopes touch would soothe him. He stepped away from me and made a sound that was much like a laugh, but I know laughter and know when it is made, and I know Menderash felt no joy. It sounded almost like a misfire, like he was so overwhelmed that he was not sure which reaction he was meant to have.

“Oh, do not provide comfort. Not now. Not when I am struggling with the indelicate and embarrassing sensation of an _itch!_ ”

Glass crunched beneath his heels, the sound of teeth chewing sand.

<Perhaps if—>

“No!” shouted Menderash. I winced again. When he yelled like that, it reverberated through our walls and created an echo effect. It was so loud and so sharp to me it was like a weapon. I covered my ears again. I knew on some level I should have hidden my response, but Menderash knew very well the effect his human voice had on me in our cabin, and there was no use in hiding it.

Menderash was not concerned with my reaction. He continued to pace, and the pacing continued to ruin our floor. “There is nothing you can do, because there is nothing anyone can do, because the limb is _gone_ !” he said, his voice still raised, wild and mad, “But no, _no,_ this body simply will not _accept that._ And there is no solution to that, is there? I can create replacements for the arm, but the body? This dull and confused body? There is no solution! Nothing at all! This is it, this is it now, forever and ever, this is what I wake up to, this strange body that produces waxes and slimes and grease. I will be in it as it ages, and I will watch the skin sag around the bones, and I will watch the hair fall off in patches, and I will watch the teeth rot down to nubs. There is nothing Santorelli can do, nothing you can do, nothing, nothing, _nothing,_ and it would have been fine— _fine—_ but I had to become _this!_ ” he said, indicating his amputation.

I jerked forward a bit with my arms, again defaulting to my strange human affectations. I did not quite know why I was moving toward him. I felt a desperate need to comfort Menderash, but also deeply understood there was nothing to be done. Menderash was brash and prone to fits, but never at this level. I had to proceed carefully. I took a deep breath. <Estrid and Tobias are researching—>

“Estrid is _insane!_ ” shouted Menderash. He was yelling with a too-raw intensity now, his voice making the rough sounds human voices do when their vocal chords are being abused.

I heard a distinct buzzing, a sound I knew did not truly exist. My abused ears were doing all they could, turning pain into noise in hopes it would be comforting. It was not.

Menderash fell back on his bed. He was crying in a defeated way, mewling and wet and desperate.

I knelt down in front of him, allowing us to be almost level with one another. I looked at him with my main eyes. I made sure my tone was gentle and carried my feelings of love and strength. <Perhaps it is time to see Santorelli,> I said slowly. <He will have something.>

Menderash sobbed, a human noise that was not unlike choking. “I do not want to be drugged,” he said.

<Perhaps it is not a question of want,> I said patiently, <But a matter of should.> I reached over, intending to push Menderash’s hair back behind his ears.

Menderash pushed my arm away. He grabbed at his stump again, and again I felt the distant ache. He continually blamed his phantom pains on his inferior human form, but I do not think an Andalite body would react any differently to the same sort of trauma. Unfortunately, we have no official information on how Andalites react to amputation due to our cultural distaste for _vecols,_ a word I am beginning to dislike very much. It is deeply embarrassing to me that I used to hold such vile values, and deeply humbling that I have been forgiven by someone I rejected because of those misplaced beliefs.

I let my arms fall to my side, careful to keep them still. If Menderash did not want to be touched, then he did not want to be touched, but I was not done helping him find distractions and solutions.

<If you do not wish to talk to Santorelli,> I said slowly, <Then perhaps it is finally time to open communication with Mertil.>

Menderash’s face turned rubbery and halting, his mouth and eyes twisting in ugly ways not unlike morphing. His crying was deepening.

“Neither of us deserve that indignity.”

I was a maelstrom of emotions; concern, despair, panic, but the more Menderash insisted on being stubborn, the more I simply felt frustration. Perhaps that was cruel of me, but it is hard not to feel that way when someone you love rejects all supportive suggestions. I breathed out heavily. <I do not believe he would find it distasteful.>

“He keeps what’s left of his tail lowered!” wailed Menderash. “I do not even have that dignity!”

<You must do _something_! > I said, my thought-speak now mimicking human yelling at a tone to match Menderash’s.

Menderash collapsed into himself and covered his face with his hand. He turned his body away from me.

<There is no help to be had,> he said, and his true voice finally filling my thoughts felt more like home than anything else ever had.

But with his thought-speak came the emotional undertones, uncontrolled like a child’s and made worse by our tentative bond. I gasped with the weight of them. His hopelessness and hatred were goading each other, mocking and conspiring, and they had become something dark and gnawing. I was pulled under by his sadness, filled with it, buried with it. I stumbled backwards, my hooves slipping on shattered glass.

<Menderash _,_ > I said, too shocked to say anything but his name.

Menderash’s sobs quieted, and his lack of crying was worse than his crying.

<Please,> I said, desperate and begging. <Please let me help you.>

He said nothing.

<I cannot watch you be like this,> I said.

<Then go,> said Menderash.

I stared at his increasingly still form. I eventually left the room in silence, feeling guilty as I did.

—

Our cabin was what used to be the captain’s quarters. It is far larger than the other cabins and has many luxuries. It is ours because we are the only two who share living space, and we are both the most knowledgeable in running the ship’s controls. However, we share a wall with the bridge. It is a perk, but right now, I wish we were located somewhere less populated. Prince Jake had made what he called “piloting shifts” mandatory, and there was generally at least one person watching the controls. It was an attempt to provide the crew with stability and eased Menderash and my need for constant vigilance when it came to running the ship. It was helpful, but it meant someone had undeniably overheard our somewhat unpleasant conversation.

I opened the doors to the bridge, keeping my tail held high, prepared to mollify anyone who was concerned about Menderash. I peeked inside and immediately heard the sound of Earth music, which was quiet and muffled but still quite obnoxious. I quickly pieced the scene together.

Marco was in the captain’s chair, his feet resting on the sensitive control panel, and he was wearing “headphones.” Headphones are a human invention where two very small auditory receptors are sized to fit human ears and placed on the head, allowing a human to enjoy music without disrupting their comrades. Unless, of course, the human was Marco, who listened to his music loud enough that it could still be heard by passers-by. His focus was completely absorbed by a video game. Were the Z-space barometer to begin to indicate an aberration, or the auto-pilot to begin rerouting, we would lose weeks in Z-space at best, or find ourselves dead in space at worst. At least Marco had not heard Menderash. I quickly walked back toward the bridge elevator. Marco did not notice me.

I went to the dome. It is a favorite part of the ship for many, but I tended to go there only to eat and leave. Even if the dome had been largely redesigned, it was still the dome that had imprisoned me. I was making an effort to learn to enjoy it, but it was a process.

The dome was lit for Andalite night, which suited my melancholy mood. It also meant the dome was vacant, which was both what I wanted and what I did not want at all.

I walked toward the patch of eating grasses. I had to be careful with my diet due to my time eating Earth grass. Earth grass is not entirely nutritionally sound for an Andalite, and I had many health complications as a result. I typically chose to eat small amounts more frequently, as that was the easiest on my stomach, but I often miss the comfort of filling myself on nutrients until I can take no more. Perhaps I would indulge, and deal with the consequences later.

There was a rustling in the nearby _therant_ tree. I looked with a stalk eye, my heart soaring with hope. I would not mind distraction from anyone, but there was one person on this ship who I wished to speak to frankly.

Tobias emerged, walking down the tree’s branches and stretching his wings. <Ax-man! Why are you awake?>

I hesitated, unsure how to begin the conversation I wanted to have. <Menderash woke me,> I said. <It is dark in the dome. Do you not find that unpleasant?>

<I mean, it’s hard to see, but I can’t be in my cabin for a while,> he said. <I like it, but the hawk starts to freak out if I’m there too long.>

<Why not spend time in the rec room?> I asked. <It is quite spacious.>

<Ugh,> said Tobias. <Everyone’s always in there being loud or watching dumb stuff.>

<Marco is currently on the bridge,> I said. <He is often the source of loud conversations.>

<Yeah, but Santorelli’s almost as bad these days,> said Tobias. <And Jake’s always watching some kind of sport thing.>

<Perhaps,> I said. I did not follow it up with anything. Tobias blinked at me, then tilted his head.

<Oh!> he said. <Do you want to be alone?>

<No,> I said.

We stared at each other.

<Um, okay,> said Tobias. <Then do _you_ want to go to the rec room and hang out with everyone?>

<No,> I said.

He blinked. <Do you want us _both_ to go to the rec room?>

<No,> I said.

<Hey Ax,> said Tobias, sounding exasperated. <What’s up?>

<Nothing,> I said.

<You’re randomly awake in the middle of the night— well, your night— and you’re being weird and evasive. I know when something is bothering you, so talk to me.>

I shifted my weight, a nervous habit of mine the warriors beneath me often mocked. Tobias asking me what was wrong felt like a sort of permission, and the need to speak about Menderash bubbled up inside me. <Menderash is fighting with himself,> I said bitterly, <And he will not let me be of any assistance other than as an audience.>

Tobias cocked his head to the side, blinking at me with his small dark eyes. <What do you mean by that?>

<He continues to feel sensations in his amputated arm,> I said. <There are ways to handle this, yet he has refused all of my attempts to help. He would rather throw a tantrum than solve the problem.> I waited for Tobias to respond. He did not. The silence was beginning to frustrate me, so I filled it. <He has thrown fits before, pranced back and forth like the privileged child he is, but they have been mild compared to this. He is inconsolable, because he refuses to be consoled. He threw something on the floor of our room and now there are glass shards everywhere and it will take hours to remove it all. I have two different shards in my hooves.>

<Oh,> said Tobias. He paused. <Is he still upset?>

I began walking through the eating patches, absorbing nutrients I did not need. <Yes,> I said simply, which did not portray the full depths of guilt I felt at leaving Menderash alone. Unfortunately, I was too upset to contain my emotions. Tobias was growing ever aware of Andalite thought-speak projection. He blinked at me.

<Tell me more, please,> he said, as patient as ever. Tobias often understood there were unspoken words in a conversation, but he did not always understand the meaning of them. In those moments, he would instead gently ask. The directness was a comfort to me. I stopped eating. I walked away from the patch and slowly lowered myself to the ground, folding my legs beneath me. It is not that Andalites find this posture uncomfortable. In fact, it is quite the opposite. However, we are taught that this is a childish thing to do, though there is evidence that it is good for our bodies.

I thought of Menderash sitting on the bridge of the _Intrepid,_ bold and uncaring, daring anyone to judge him. One time a warrior insinuated he was lazy, and Menderash calmly explained the benefits of sitting when we need to and cited the cultural movements that made it a stigma, all while refusing to stand. He had held one stalk eye positioned toward the warrior to indicate Menderash could not care less about his comments. We had only recently met, but in that moment I knew I would never feel uncomfortable around him. I struggle to defend my beliefs that are strange and at odds with Andalite culture while maintaining a respectful persona. Menderash does so without regard for his reputation, throwing out unpopular opinions without care, and I trusted him for it.

Not for the first time, my hearts ached at the memory of his body. Not because I do not accept him now, but because he had been so striking and so important to our culture. Now, my people would never take him seriously.

<He is—> I began, and then I trailed off, at a loss for words. I was now seeing my own selfishness in leaving him. <He is as Rachel could be at times, but his rage and frustration are directed only toward himself and a situation he cannot change.>

Tobias flinched at the mention of Rachel. We had not talked of her since our reunion. I felt a small pang of regret for bringing her up so brashly, but it was a quick and necessary way to explain things to him. Tobias stretched out a wing. <Oh. Um. Then you maybe shouldn’t have left him alone.>

I bristled. <It was what he wanted,> I said. <He said as much.>

<Sometimes when people are like that, their ‘leave me alone, go away’ actually means ‘stay here,’> said Tobias. He was sounding strained, as if he were pushing this conversation away from himself. He began to preen. <Especially after all that’s happened to him, you know?>

<The amputation,> I said, clarifying for myself. <But it has been six of your months.>

<I mean, yeah, that, of course,> said Tobias, <But six months before _that_ he became a _nothlit._ That’s a really intense year, you know? I’m surprised he doesn’t have more meltdowns.>

<He has had ample time to adjust to his new body,> I said, and as soon as I said the words I understood how terribly callous they were. I was growing less and less confident in my convictions, but I was not yet willing to admit they were wrong. <And he does not miss his old life very much. He had no friends in the military and had a strained relationship with his family. Anyone with which he had a true bond are part of the _Voktra_ movement and are still in contact with him. He enjoys being human. He has assured me over and over that he had little to lose by becoming a _nothlit,_ and has told me he is fine with the way things are!>

Tobias continued to preen, avoiding looking at me directly. I was beginning to get a sense of a strained patience from him. <He probably is,> said Tobias. <But you can be fine with something and not fine with it, too. Like, you did the best you could with being on Earth and I know you grew to love it, but it’s not like you never wanted to go home, right?>

I said nothing

<So,> Tobias said with a nervous energy, fidgeting a little with his feet. <You get it, then.>

I did not, not entirely. I was stuck on Earth years ago, in an impossible situation with no resources available to me. Menderash had seen multiple amputee and pain experts on Earth and was given many devices and medicines. I turned my eye stalks from Tobias, looking anywhere else in the dome but him.

Tobias knew me well enough to sense I was processing things in a contrary way. <Okay then, you don’t get it,> he said. <Look, I don’t know what else to tell you, man. Maybe you should talk to Santorelli about this. Or Jake. Or Melissa! She would know _exactly_ what to say!>

<I just do not understand why he is refusing help,> I said. <If I had had support as a child on Earth, I would have accepted it!>

I spared a glance at Tobias. He had stopped preening. <Okay, well, see, that’s the thing about accepting help when you need it,> he said softly. <You have to do it so much, over and over again, and it just starts to feel sort of useless. It’s already embarrassing enough to need it in the first place, right? So when you’re in a situation where you need the same stuff over and over and over and everyone has to constantly adjust their day to accommodate you, that starts to feel really terrible. There’s not really a solution for that feeling. Giving Menderash a list of things he _should_ be doing is the last thing he’s going to need when he’s frustrated at being in the situation at all. That’s— that’s something I would feel, sometimes, especially before I could morph. Sometimes even after I could morph.>

I thought of my time on Earth, back when I still needed guidance in the ways of humans. I thought of how I was sometimes ignored because I had asked too many questions about Earth culture and the humans were tired of answering them. I remembered the days where I declined invitations to attend social events, and watched blatant expressions of relief cross their faces, unhidden because they thought I could not read them. I thought of staying alone in my imperfect Earth scoop, reflecting on the presence of friends but feeling as if they were not enough because they were not Andalites. What would I have done if Menderash had been by my side, pushing me to simply visit a human as if that could immediately cure my melancholy? It would have only depressed me more.

I looked up at Tobias with my main eyes. <You and Menderash are far from the same,> I said, <But you are my only resource in this moment.>

<I guess,> said Tobias, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but here.

<Before you could morph, when you missed being human, what was done to aid you?> I asked.

<Jake used to make me a little bed in his dresser drawer—>

<I do not think Prince Jake was the most instrumental person to your survival,> I said.

<Cassie would—>

<Please, Tobias,> I said, as gently as I could. <There is no one else to ask. How does one help a _nothlit_ they love?>

Tobias went unnaturally still, looking less than a lively bird with a human soul and more like a dead animal on display.

<I was close to Menderash for nearly two seasons— our seasons are, roughly, Earth years,> I said, keeping my tone gentle and even. I sent him waves of comfort. <I knew he cared deeply for me, but I did not yet believe he could be a true mate. One day, on the _Intrepid,_ I opened up to him about Rachel. I thought it would feel like splitting open an old wound that had barely scarred over. Instead, it felt like healing. He listened patiently, and did not judge either me or her. That is when I knew there was more to him than frivolous friendship.>

<But you hated her,> said Tobias, spiteful and biting. I felt my hearts break at once.

<No,> I said firmly. <I am saddened that you feel that way. I was disappointed in her, because I loved her.>

Tobias had no response.

<There is no literature for Menderash and I,> I said, continuing to press. <There are no Andalite sensitivity courses, no Earth programs dedicated to understanding our relationship style lead by the soul healer Oprah Winfrey. I only know of one relationship between someone and a _nothlit,_ and it is Rachel and yourself. Menderash may not wish to accept help, but I am seeking it. What was used to soothe you? How did you find peace with your body? >

Perhaps I should have felt more guilt at pushing Tobias to open up. I would not have appreciated it where the situations reversed. However, he is my _shorm,_ or was once upon a time. I would sacrifice much more than momentary emotional discomfort for Tobias. I could only hope he would do the same.

He began to preen his feathers again. This time, I realized he was not simply cleaning his feathers but, rather, he was chewing on them. I watched as he pulled one feather completely out of his skin. It fell to the floor in a lazy, shapeless spiral.

<The first time she did something for me, like, really did something for me, was back in the beginning,> he said, sounding automated and distant. <She and I started hanging out more because she took her homework more seriously than anyone else and I liked helping her out. I got to stay sharp that way, you know? I’d watch classrooms through windows, sure, but helping her with homework really helped shape what I was learning. One time, I mean, I don’t even remember what I said, but I guess I mentioned that I missed taking showers. One night she called me over— you remember, right, the system she had with Cassie?>

<Of course,> I said, feeling a fondness at the memory. Cassie would flash the lights in her bedroom in a certain way that meant Rachel wanted to see Tobias. She would repeat the pattern every ten minutes until Rachel called to confirm Tobias had arrived.

Tobias ripped out another feather from his own body.

<Right,> he said. <So, Cassie did that, and I saw, and I flew over. Naomi and Sarah had gone to one of Jordan’s recitals, but Rachel told her she had to work on a group project for school. Everyone was out of the house. She was wearing a bathing suit, which I thought was weird, and then she took me to her mom’s bathroom. Naomi had this master suite with a giant tub and Rachel had filled it with all the best bath stuff. I could even smell it, just a little bit. I think it was mostly projecting, but it was nice. The bathroom was all warm and steamy and that part I could feel for sure. It wasn’t a shower, but it was as close as Rachel could get. She got in and read a few chapters of her favorite book, _Anne of Green Gables_. She made me swear not to tell anyone she read old girly books, but I ended up really liking the characters. Eventually, she got the book on tape from the library, and we listened to the whole thing. The whole day was really, really special. It wasn’t like taking a warm shower, but it wasn’t something a bird would do, either. It was as close as I could get, you know? And the fact that she made time to give that to me, it really kept me going for a while. >

I reached out and gently placed a finger beneath Tobias’s beak, to stop him from his excessive grooming. He looked away from me nervously, his head moving in the stop motion fashion of birds who need to look everywhere at once. <Thank you,> I said.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he gently bit my finger. It was an odd gesture, and something he’d never done to me before, but I knew it was a symbol of deep affection. He had only ever done it to Rachel.

I drew my hand away from Tobias. <I know I will come to you for advice again,> I said softly.

<Yeah,> he said. He shifted on his feet. <I probably owe you that. And I should— I should talk about her. Rachel. I should talk about Rachel.>

<You have always been very self aware,> I said.

Tobias continued to fidget, avoiding my gaze, which was something of a remarkable feat, as I have four eyes.

<I will return to our cabin,> I said. <Will you be alright?>

<Of course,> said Tobias, with a surprising amount of genuine confidence.

<Good,> I said. I paused. <Did it hurt to speak of her, or did it heal?> I asked.

Tobias blinked. <I don’t really know yet,> he said, <But I think it was good.>

I gave him a smile and sent him a small sense of my sadness. <There is a word in Andalite, _staha,_ which is specifically used in the complex mourning of a beloved warrior. It means to mourn death itself. Warriors may die, and death is there in every moment between a warrior and their loved ones. To love a warrior means to love fleetingly. The knowledge of that ought to make the death easier to accept. It rarely, if ever, does.>

Tobias met my main eyes. <Thank you,> he said.

<I think I am ready to confront him now,> I said.

<Good luck,> said Tobias.

I did not immediately return to our cabin. I first stopped by the kitchen, where I happened upon Prince Jake, Jeanne, and Santorelli. I told Prince Jake that Marco was “goofing off” on his piloting shift and Prince Jake left to deal with his _shorm._ This left me alone with Jeanne and Santorelli. They were often in the kitchen, as Jeanne had become a sort of “chef” for the humans, and Santorelli enjoyed keeping her company as she worked. Prince Jake is rightfully reluctant to let me eat with the humans, as it is a waste of resources, and will only allow it on special occasions. I often patiently wait to finish what the humans will not and that is enough, but sometimes, if I really enjoy the dish, Jeanne will reserve a serving for me and hide it from Prince Jake. I have great affection for Jeanne. I asked if she would be similarly discreet while Santorelli and I spoke. She agreed while giving me a kind smile. People dismiss Jeanne for being cold and aloof. I do not think she is entirely cold or always aloof, but I do think she prefers that people thought her as such. I am familiar with this tactic, though I am admittedly not skilled at employing it.

I explained to Santorelli Menderash’s behavior and emotions. It was decided that it was best for him to tend to Menderash without me, especially as he had directly requested Santorelli not be sent. I decided it was worth Menderash’s ire. As Tobias said, sometimes what people are asking for is not what they truly want in their heart. I hoped Menderash would feel a secret relief at seeing Santorelli.

While I waited for Santorelli to return, I morphed human and assisted Jeanne as she prepared dinner for the humans. She let me taste many things as she made them. She tends to speak French to me, as it is a relief for her to use her native language. As a result, I am learning many new mouth sounds. I have ceased enjoying speech in front of others as I am always mocked, but with Jeanne, I could play with them under the pretense of learning French. Somehow, she caught on that I simply adored using my tongue, and encouraged me to do so as much as I wanted. I quite enjoyed making the French “r” sound.

Santorelli returned just as Jeanne was plating the food. Jeanne gave me a plate to bring back to Menderash and promised me she would hide another in the refrigerator for me. I thanked her for all the welcome distractions, and cautiously made my way back to our cabin.

When I arrived, the cabin had been cleaned of all visible glass and Menderash was asleep.

I placed the food for Menderash carefully on his bedside table, taking much care to not wake him. Unfortunately, Menderash continued to have an Andalite warrior’s vigilance while sleeping. He stirred as soon as I had set down the plate. He sat up slowly, blinking at the food.

<What is this,> he said, and even his thought-speak sounded thick with sleep. <I did not ask for it.>

<I am sorry to wake you,> I said, trying not to sound irritated. If he was irritable, it was most likely because I disturbed his rest. <I will leave.>

<Your sleep cycle is disrupted,> he muttered.

<I will sleep in the dome,> I said.

He coughed. Some of his medicines often left him with an irritated throat. Santorelli had convinced him to take something.

<I do not want vegetables and bread, I want water,> he said.

I barely kept myself from projecting resentment. <Of course,> I said with an even tone, walking toward our bathroom to retrieve him a glass.

<You are upset,> he said.

<I only wish to support you,> I said, turning on the tap.

Menderash said nothing. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the water falling from the faucet into the cup. I returned to the main cabin and gave the glass to Menderash.

He took it and drank, then stared down at it. <My reaction was disproportionate to the situation at hand,> he said.

It was, but I did not say so. Instead, I forced myself to pause, and remember what Tobias said about people needing to feel. <It is one thing to shatter glass over an inconvenience that has potential solution,> I said. <It is another thing to go through all you have, and only shatter glass once.>

Menderash sat down his glass. I walked to him and took his hand in mine. <Come,> I said, pulling at him.

Menderash blinked at me, but followed where I pulled. I did not necessarily lift him, as my arms and torso are not built for such things. Menderash knew this intimately.

I led him to my sleeping alcove. Andalites do not require “beds” like humans. I find them disturbingly soft and feel as if my hooves will tear them apart at any moment. We prefer to stand in diligence as we sleep, but also tuck ourselves away in a hidden place. It is a direct contrast to our ingrained claustrophobia. That contrast has a word in our culture, _layasch,_ which is often used as an expletive when things simply do not make sense. I connect greatly to the sense of _layasch_. Perhaps Menderash does as well.

The floor of my alcove would be uncomfortable to a human. I went back to Menderash’s bed and pulled away many things that I knew would make the experience less unpleasant. Menderash had fallen in love with the human concept of “interior design,” which involved arranging useless objects in aesthetically pleasing ways. I allowed it, as Menderash was prone to owning useless objects in general, and at least this was a way to make art of it. As a result, his bed had an absurd amount of pillows, even if he only used one. I took the pillows and his blanket and made a sort of soft nest for his human body. I instructed him to lie down. Then, I lay down next to him, in my way: legs tucked beneath me, torso leaning against the wall. We adjusted ourselves bit by bit, finding a position that was comfortable for us both. We didn’t speak. We simply shared our feelings of sadness, frustration, regret, contentment, and love.

Andalites do not need touch quite the way that humans do, but two Andalites with a taste for it may sleep such as we were, in the privacy of their own scoop and hidden in their private sleeping alcoves. Menderash and I never had, but I had never allowed myself to fully care for Menderash until I was rescued by him. I found myself wondering what it would have felt like to have Menderash’s true body here, entangled with mine, our position easy and safe. I forced the thoughts away. Menderash’s new body was heavy and warm against mine, smelling of laundry chemicals and Earth botanicals, all covering the unique and not unpleasant scent of a human beneath it all. It reminded me of my childhood, of visiting my human friend’s homes and learning of their ways. Menderash and I had never and would never explore all the intimacies of two Andalites exploring a life partnership, but I did not much mourn the loss aside from simple curiosity. He was of both my hearts, and I would treasure our bodies as they were; imperfect, mismatched, and ours.

I reached forward and gathered a thick length of his hair. I separated it into three, as I had been taught. I was careful to ensure each section was of equal size. Then, I placed one section over the other. A simple plait was easy to do. However, the things Menderash enjoyed doing with hair were far, far more complex.

<I wish I had not ignored your requests to learn styling arts,> I said, noting how much care was required to create a neat and satisfying braid. <It was not immediately interesting to me, but I do enjoy things that require precision. Melissa, Jeanne, and Marco have hair long enough to style. Perhaps they will be as models for us, and you can teach me what to do. As Andalites, we share _eilashan._ Perhaps as we are now, we can share this.>

Menderash smiled, and a feeling of love and happiness burst within me so strongly that I was certain we were feeling the same thing at once. <Perhaps,> he muttered.

We fell asleep like that, two mismatching bodies in a mismatching position, nestled into the corner of a ship filled with other such lost souls who did not quite belong.

  
  



End file.
